


The Kids Are Alright

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cute, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Sam Ships It, Smart Sam Winchester, Swearing, Teen Angst, dumb kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: "Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longerAnd yet I'm still afraid to let it flowWhat started out this friendship has grown strongerI only wish I had the strength to let it show"Dumb kids are dumb. Kids make mistakes. It's not Dean's fault. You're just well-practiced at jumping to conclusions.





	

You’re just pushing into the Winchester’s home as you hear the voices from the kitchen. Stopping midway, you stand just outside the entrance to the room where you hear Dean and Sam arguing.

“-why don’t you just  _ ask  _ her?” Sam’s whiny and bratty at the best of times, but aren’t all thirteen year old boys? You’re still fond of the little jerk.

“You can’t just  _ say  _ it, Sammy!” that’s Dean, and your heart thrums excitedly just at his voice, but you can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. “Girls are… friggin’ sensitive and shit.”

“Just be honest,” you could hear Sam’s bitch-face and eye roll, a deadly combo attack on the nervous system. “Tell her straight up.” These allusions to ‘her’, though, they’re kind of freaking you out. Are they talking about  _ you _ ?

“Man, c’mon, pick up a few actual books, or movies,” Dean sounds exasperated and slightly irrational, his footsteps pounding around as if he were… pacing? “Girls get all… emotional about this stuff.”

 

And by now, you know you’re eavesdropping.

“Knock knack, look who’s back,” you sing out, rapping one fist on the doorframe, trying to control the speed of your heart.  _ Unlikely _ .

 

“Shit!” Dean’s hiss is a bit of a burn on your heart, aching against you. You can’t help but wonder why your best friend is panicking so badly about you being here. Is it because of what Sam and Dean were speaking of, or could it be something else?

It’s hard to believe it could be something else.

“Y/N!” Sam’s excited, at least, his bright hazel eyes shiny as he tackles you for a hug, like he hasn’t seen you in years.

It’s been maybe a day.

 

“C’mon, Dean’s being all chicken-shit over a girl,” he chatters, grinning ear to ear with some sort of mischief in his expression, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you into the kitchen.

“Oh?” you ask, somewhat weakly, because since when did Dean get nervous over girls? Only when they’re important to him. Like Cassie in seventh grade or Lisa in ninth. And even then he was cocky enough to not share his genuine worry with Sam about it before asking them out.

This must be someone really special.

_ Someone not you, because it never would be you. _

 

And that stings above all else.

 

“Y/N,” Dean grins at you from the kitchen, but it’s a guilty and awkward smile, like he knows something. Something he wishes he didn’t.

_ Shit _ . You thought you had hidden it well. Calm down, it might not be  _ that _ , though, that’s just your brain finding the worst case scenario.  _ He can’t possibly know you like him. _

“Um, yeah, I thought...” you swallow tightly. “If you’re busy, I could just…”

“No, wait!” Sam practically pushes you onto his brother, making it even worse for you, because suddenly you two are eye to eye, and he’s staring down on you with a white face and wide eyes and his lips are right  _ there… _ !

 

“Sam, would you stop?” Dean growls, finally tearing his gaze from you to glare at his little brother. He clearly doesn’t want you here, and if it’s bothering him that much, you’d rather not be there either.

You take a cautious step back when he does this, hoping that he’s distracted well enough for you to maybe just slip away and pretend this never happened and he never (potentially) found out you liked him. 

“Y/N?”

How dare he sound so vulnerable and soft, like  _ you  _ were hurting  _ him  _ with your distance?! He’s the one stabbing you in the chest with how little he wants to be near you. He doesn’t deserve to sound like that. Not when your ribs feels like they’re just hanging open, all the innards revealed to be poked at.

 

“If you don’t tell her, I will,” Sam glares, arms crossed, and why do is Sam ganging up on you? What did you do?! “ _ Chicken _ .”

“Am not,” Dean scowls, red-faced, with his shoulders hitched up defensively.

“You don’t need to say  _ anything _ , Winchester,” you bite out, glaring at him. You don’t need to hear anything he has to say if it’s just to chase you away. You don’t want to hear that. Ever. “Don’t bother. I’m leaving.” 

You turn and brush past Sam, jaw clenched as tightly as possible to keep the tears at bay with as much self-control as possible.

 

“Y/N!” that’s Sam chasing you. Of course it is. Whenever you and Dean fight, which can be often thanks to you both being somewhat pig-headed, Sam is always the one luring you back. 

You should’ve known better than to think Dean wanted to be friends with  _ you _ . He’s too good for you, too special and beautiful to be dragged down by some stupid little girl with a crush…

“Go away, Sam,” you shove him aside as gently as possible. You still do care for him, after all. Stupid of you, really.

“I don’t think you know what he meant…!” Sam begs.

 

“I heard you two, before I came in,” you blurt out suddenly, not having planned to let him know that. You don’t know if that changes anything, but it seems to, according to the stunned look on Sam’s face.

Sam blinks, “Then you heard…?”

“I heard that Dean needs to tell ‘her’ something, and I suppose I’m not wrong in guessing that’s me?” you’re still striding away from the house, and Sam’s still at your heels. Maybe telling him you know Dean doesn’t want you around him anymore will chase him away.

“But I thought you  _ liked  _ him!” his exclamation freezes you in your steps, gaze once locked on the horizon now shoots to him in utter fear and guilt.

 

It’s one thing to assume Dean knows, and to know it for yourself. It’s another thing to hear it said aloud by his little brother.

“So  _ what _ ,” you finally huff out, choking on the words, admitting that you did. You had never admitted your feelings to anyone. Doing so to Sam was like… you feel like a burden had left your heart at the admission, actually. 

“So why are you rejecting him?!” 

 

Rejecting? You never thought yo u had a choice in this!

“Who’s rejecting who again?” you retort, somewhat weakly because who knew Dean better than Sam. “He’s the one…”

“Who’s been planning on how to ask you to prom since I could walk?” Sam rolls his eyes. “He’s kinda pathetic, I know, and I dunno why you like him, but…”

All of Sam’s words are lost in the haze of  _ ask you to prom _ and  _ Dean _ . You spin on heel and hurry back into the house, practically slamming the door against the wall in your haste. If Sam was right, you just made the worst decision in your life by storming out.

 

You find him in the kitchen, picking at a scab on his arm (probably from last week’s rug-scuffle you think momentarily) and staring at the floor. He looks… broken, pieces barely held together as he draws in a deep sniff. Clearly he hasn’t noticed you yet.

“Dean?” his head jerks up at your quiet voice, jaw clenched tight.

“Sam told you,” he mumbles, cheeks uncertain of whether to be pale or blood-filled, it seemed. He sniffs again, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes, and shakes his head violently, coughing as if to add determination to the matter simply by roughening his voice. “You don’t hafta patronize me, Y/L/N.”

“Ooh, finally using those SAT words, huh, dumbass?” you can’t help but tease; it usually brings him out of the weird depressed funks he’ll get. Right now, though, he only stares at you, somewhat oddly, mostly confused and sad it seemed. You shake your head, regretting the inappropriate joke for the occasion, “I think I made a bit of a mistake…”

 

“No,” the single word catches, hitched on a broken sound. “No you’re, you’re better than this,” he waves his hands about, mostly him, and you can’t believe it. You honestly can’t believe him and his overdramatic behavior. What was wrong with Dean, or the Winchester household, for that matter? 

“I dunno why I thought…” he shakes his head, staring hopelessly at the ground. “You should go. I won’t…” he sighs, breathing in harshly, “I won’t bother you after this.”

 

“Dean  _ Adam  _ Winchester,” you glare, now more annoyed at yourself than ever. His gaze locks to yours instinctively with the use of his oft-forgot middle name. “How dare you think this is  _ your  _ fault! That  _ you’re  _ the one bothering me!  _ I’m  _ the one that misunderstood you. I thought… I thought I was coming in here for you to tell me to leave! That I was the one annoying  _ you _ !”

His mouth gapes open, fists clenching in his jeans before he gracelessly stumbles off the kitchen stool, hastening over to you, but pulling back at the last second. He towers over you, gangly limbs somehow new to him after four years of consecutive growth spurts. 

However he does it, he manages to look more vulnerable and sweeter than ever, his breath inches from yours as he tentatively reaches out.

 

“God  _ no _ , never, Y/N,” he whispers, taking your hand in his, and your breath draws in sharply with surprise at the gesture. His fingers tie themselves between yours, thumb rubbing gently over the back of your palm. “You never  _ annoy  _ me.”

“Really?” you ask, drying your eyes with heavy blinks, then cracking a watery smile. “Even when I eat half the pizza and take up all the room on the couch?”

“Especially then,” he grins, pressing his forehead against yours as just another way of getting closer to you, and those emerald irises steal your breath away. “Plus, I got the excuse I needed to hold you.”

You remember once waking up snuggled down in Dean’s hoodie, the then-fifteen year old snoring and drooling onto the couch arm, his left hand tucked behind his head and the other thrown around you. Your legs were tangled loosely beneath the pair of you, and you felt so warm and safe, you knew that’s where you wanted to be for the rest of your life.

 

“What’s the excuse now, cowboy?” your eyelids start to flutter shut, tipping your head back slightly so he only had to lean down.

“I love you,” he murmurs, oh so softly, not even giving you a chance to comprehend that before kissing the life out of you.

Your knees tremble, butterflies spilling up from your stomach in hurricane-fashion, his arm the only thing seemingly holding you up as you wrap yours around his neck. The other snakes around your waist, as if being clever, but really his hand is shaking on your hip. 

He smells of pine and tastes like mint gum, his lips soft but sure as they chastely press against your own. His tongue flicks out against your mouth and it parts for him, and then his teeth are nibbling at your bottom lip, and he’s  _ everywhere _ .

 

“Ew, gross, guys!” Sam’s voice breaks the spell, but only enough to have you two pulling back, grinning dopily at each other. The thirteen year old looks grossed out but happy. “Now will you ask her, Dean?!”

“Hey, Y/N, light of my life, peanut butter to my jelly,” he grins, knowing how much you hate ridiculous, over the top compliments. “Rodgers to my Hammerstein, rain to my bow, Steve to my Bucky…”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you laugh, but he continues obnoxiously, rambling until you’re sure he’s lost the original point of this sentence.

“Air to my lungs, Rose to my Doctor, Catwoman to my Batman, my most precious possession, girl of my dreams, flame to my forest fire, you’re a candle in the window…”

 

“Don’t start with the REO!” you punch his arm but he just grabs you and pulls you in tight, head resting on yours as he chuckles deep and low.

 

“Will you go to prom with me?” he whispers in your ear, the hiss of air warm and strong on your sensitive flesh. You turn your head up to him, staring in disbelief, before kissing the part of his jaw where it met neck.

“I love you,” your heart hammers wildly at the admission, but you do, you have for some time, and he said it first which makes it even… better? Stronger? “And yes, you idiot, I will go to prom with you.”

“Good,” he sighs, mocking. “Cuz I already bought the tickets.”

“I’m sure you would’ve found some willing dumbass to drag along behind you and complain to about the dicks in our class and make inside jokes with, even if this hadn’t happened,” you tease, kissing his jaw again and admiring the freckled skin in an utterly new and up-close way.

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have the right to do this again,” and he kisses you smartly on the lips, grinning too widely for proper making-out, but what the hell. You beam right back and laugh as your wildest dreams fall into place.

 

And all the jealous faces at prom are so worth it when Dean Winchester slow-dances you to  _ Can’t Fight This Feeling _ with gusto, lyrics pouring off his lips like they come from his soul, and you’re laughing at his two left feet and off-key voice… 

But you can’t have felt more perfect or right than in that moment. Dean in his black tux and green tie, and you in matching green dress, lost in a world entirely unaffected by the mass of people around you.

 


End file.
